Easter at Coney Island

It's Easter Sunday and the windows in our largely Italian-American neighborhood are filled with paper cut-outs of pink bunnies, yellow chicks and multi-colored eggs. Rows of Easter lilies and daffodils line the sidewalks in front of the bodegas. All morning long, little girls in pink dresses and white patent leather shoes and boys in navy suits and loose-fitting ties paraded past with their well-dressed parents on their way to one of the many Catholic churches in the neighborhood.
Unlike yesterday, we woke to a cloudy day with no promise of sunshine. My husband and I got up early too, despite bar-hopping our way home from Bedford Avenue last night after a pint each at Spike Hill. But we decided to forego church and celebrate Easter at the New York Aquarium in Coney Island--along with a dozens of the city's Jewish and Muslim families, as it turned out. It took us almost exactly an hour to get there by subway. And the temperature had dropped about 10 degrees by the time we arrived at the aquarium, in part because it is located on the coast (though separated from the near empty beach by a high wooden fence). The breeze off the water made it hard to keep my hair out of my face as we walked outdoors from one exhibit to the next. The cool temperatures didn't seem to faze the sea lions though. Lured by the buckets of fish their trainers carried, three of them leapt out of their warm water tank onto the concrete deck or one of two specially designed wooden platforms to perform various tricks--clapping their flippers, spinning in circles, and standing on their heads--for the crowd during a lunchtime demonstration. The rest of the aquarium was less impressive. The Web site promised sea dragons, some of the most fantastic creatures imaginable, but we couldn't find any--nor any reference to them--once we arrived. Though there were plenty of seahorses and sea jellies, which are pretty wild-looking creatures too (and the aquarium staff had the good sense to put them in dark tanks with a blue backlight, which gave them an extra eery glow). The Web site also promised penguins, plural. But I only saw one. The species is from southern Africa, so I'm guessing they were huddled into one of the many holes carved out of their rocky environment, trying to stay warm.
The Coney Island penguins grabbed headlines a few years ago when researchers confirmed that two of the penguins, Wendell and Cass, were in a long-term, committed--and gay--relationship. We didn't see Wendell or Cass. But we did catch a glimpse of a couple beluga whales. The water in their tank was so cloudy that we weren't sure anything lived in there until the two whales came gliding past the glass. And we got a close-up view of the underbelly of a giant sea turtle and a tankful of baby sharks (they're actually cute when they're eight inches long--and there's a thick plate of glass between you--but I wouldn't take them home).
Afterwards, we walked along the boardwalk towards the Astroland Amusement Park. My husband wanted to ride the 78-year-old Cyclone, one of the world's oldest operating wooden roller coasters--and still one of the scariest (the wobbly wooden frame is one of the most frightening aspects of the ride besides its age, but there's also the 85-foot drop). I was freezing, even with my gloves, scarf and turtleneck and Victor's knit cap. I wanted to warm up by the food stands, which offered some relief from the winds. I told him I'd wait for him at the end of the ride, but he passed. I was looking for a Turkish pastry place called Güllüoglu that I'd read about in New York magazine a couple days ago. I thought it might be on the boardwalk, but the only Middle Eastern dishes I saw advertised were kebabs and
gyros, sold from stands that smelled of grease and looked like carnival booths. So instead, Victor pulled out one of two scrambled egg sandwiches wrapped in tin foil that he'd bought at a diner near our apartment and carried with him. We split it, eating it by the benches that lined the boardwalk. The wind whipped my hair against my face amd mouth as I tried to bite into the sandwich, and blew crumbs into my hair and eyes. I gave up after a few bites and offered my husband the rest. It was too cold to keep my gloves off for long anyway. I was amazed at how many people were actually lining up for the park's rides or playing miniature golf (albeit in ski jackets and caps and thick gloves). We headed back to the subway and the hour-long ride home.
When we got back to our neighborhood, Victor picked up two hot dogs and ate them on the walk home. I bought a bag of decidely non-Easter candy. The store was sold out of the baskets, so I picked up a handful of gummy "Mexican hats," sugary "fruit" slices, and a couple stale Tootsie rolls. I toasted the other egg sandwich when we got home and ate it next to the space heater with a cup of steaming hot coffee, reminiscing about the Easter church services I used to attend when I was younger. Victor is Catholic, but he doesn't belong to any New York church. I was baptized and confirmed as a Methodist but we joined a Unitarian church when I was in high school, after my mom married a Unitarian and we moved to Massachussetts. I haven't gone regularly to church in nearly a decade. I don't feel compelled to join the Catholic church, despite its ubiquity in our neighborhood. But sometimes I do miss the Sunday services--especially around the holidays. I miss the Easter baskets too. Mexican hats and Tootsie Rolls just aren't the same as chocolate bunnies, Peeps, and jelly beans on Easter.